Chatter: An Unending Voice of Lost Conscience, Yet Speaking
Like there is a filter between you and me, for every word I say will be a mystery, you will bury it in depths of history
A glitch in the Walky Talky, transiting media humming, and a hypocritical Tweety Bird posing fake photos on Photo Book and a shocker of an app Fake Gram….
Chatter, Chatter, and Chatter, here goes once again, an unending banter;
What you want to prove, is that what you are, a lying info stream, of duplicitous lies serene, pinning people against people, agenda against agenda, a monopoly against oligopoly. Yet the common people are dreading you…
Watching you…
Watching your stink….
As they cannot stop blinking….
At your fallen grace….
Of plentitude face…..
Each face saying, repeating, chattering…..
Each faces howl, prance, and attack,
On the weak, preying on the mighty poor, mighty voluptuous honest being, trampling the homeless, powerless, and ambitionless folks.
You do not think, I don’t know what you intend?
You do not think I don’t know what you intend?
To kill the lost soul, searching for peace, forgiveness, ease in the heavens; for its dying at your feet; crying at your rusty grace of fake surgery.
You are not what you become, for kingdoms have fallen for you to survive, for watches have twirled opposites to change times for you to perforate advice, yet you are a downtrodden institution of forever lost reputation, of ecstatic adulteration and stand in silence…
Not telling anyone who you are, what you are How bad can you be? For power and piety, For kingdoms and becoming a deity, Of losing the ability to feel, heal and yet yell! In silence.
Torment that dissenter. As for he, who has gone believing he can speak,
Of words are never allowed in our kingdom, yet we have the authority of words, such lies deceiving,
Of people are just agendas waiting to be shoved into truncated SEO titles of the webpage, to gain traction, traffic, and unending voices merging together to become a hollow being who just wants to survive, proudly embrace the judicial grace of fallen face of unending brazen race for views and mighty haphazard movement to go down in the drains cracking open the garbage box and let the mouth vomit that filth
Swimming in it, while the real men step into the abyss of a sewer, faced to feel the heat of a disgruntled fortune, for what he is? Is not his fault; Its a creation of mighty contradiction, he wants food, for his kids to live in a house, good or evil, he deserves food from the state
Yet the chatter does not view it as it is not part of their conscience,
A dejected survival tactic, being the perpetrator of misery and its devious unending cycle, forever agile, it shifts and churns, till it reaches a point of a broken record trapped in the hell cycles, shackles of murderous views
Of all traditions subverting and submerging the narrative of omitted oppression from Books, TV, News Channels, News Papers, News Websites, and Independent Creators to fixate that we are a demoted Humanity
Who does not care for their brother,
mother getting violated with guns blazing on the other side,
Crystally crisscrossing into bifurcated and polluted histories, for when the times changed,
And for whom?
Aren’t people still dying?
Aren’t women being molested, raped, and abused as they shine the repute, prestige, and paraphernalia of submerged dilemmatic manhood in their private parts?
For the histories have never left, barbarism has seeped into souls of humans, agents, and raw positions; Chamelion that change colors, licks the feet of the State, thumps up the State, supports the state and looks down upon its own brethren…
Like they are lost, people
Devious
Demonic
Rattled
Illiterate
Lots…….
Times can change, but rage can’t; A rage that cannot and will not overhaul the furnace of duplicitous peddling of lies, yet becomes the harbinger of essential communication of audacious, awe-requiring information…
The nestled mysteries have lost the track….. and here comes another round of Quacks if at all they were from the Medicinal world, writing wrong prescriptions to let people, as they are the roots of all inconvenience and dry permeance, let not water sink in their sun-dried hands and they dry in the heat, die from the sorrows at peak, with hair not having enough splintered ends to lose count and lips chapped, bleeding with sorrows.
For they are the killers, abusers, and voice of perpetrators of heinous crimes, taking a deep dive into immorality, rapidity of synchronicity of the rise and shine of unfathomable alleged humongous gore-like feeling, entrenched, in senses, imbibed and embedded, little and little.
Yet they veil their realities they can catch up in acts lost and long lost, partially lost, of cycles in lost, losing the lost structures of the essence of being equal.
Ashes will grip you
The haze will fall on you
Mermaids will tear you up and eat you
The drizzling fiery Dragon appears in unitary forms….
Assisting our long lost Twetty bird to collaborate in her Photobook to deep shock Fakegram.
Tweety bird tweets as if she has graced the holy waters that appeared inside of the mighty Ganges abode from the Himalayas, for it means abode of clouds, She comes bathing in divinity
While all of it was on the photobook which is lost in the multitude of narratives, wasting itself in peddling unending lies, reversed into new technocrats who are monopolistic ruling brats trying to hop onto this high-end dream lane of subtle unseen linkages of hierarchy
They sit on your life, your ending; first love; first feeling; first depiction of expression all locked inside the servers
So Tweety bird fixates and repudiates tackling the lost mockery of self, she keeps breaking the fish on her way to the mighty Ganges as it flows from the adobe of Glaciers from the highest point in the world, if not the highest, among the highest.
Ganges flows from abode, and passes through Civilization devoid of meat eating, she sees fishes, and she desperately feasts on baby fishes, shares it with her family in Photo Book, and distributes her tryst with trendiness on Fake Gram.
Little by little she chirps and tweets, chirps, and tweets; hollows the message down on Photobook in hoards to spread she is spotting floods happening, droughts trenching, and man-made calamity enveloping.
Yet they know, we know, creation knows, its a trap of energizing, foregrounding, and perpetrating the hysteria of unknowns
She turns filthy as the Ganges, the piety and pious it is up there on the glaciers flowing in the hills traversing boulders, where the humans do not live to the plains of Human deprecatory hypocrisy, she is rugged with silence with Vegetarian Violence of killing her one day at a time.
Transitioning Tweety bird into the Vile loudmouth that she is, as her tweets intensify, her chirps horrify and the Photobook launches a spree of her photos doing the nasty, and yet the harbinger of communication falls to its knees, not able to sustain the shackles of guilt……..
I am joking they are not guilty, and NEVER WILL BE
Thanks a lot for taking some precious time out of your schedule to read my work. If you like it, you can read some of the other poems I have linked below. I hope you have a great day! Thanks for stopping by!!!
Roses and Thorns: A bewildering spring caught between hot and cold
From loving me to slamming me, if at all I knew How hopeless I am?
You lay fearless for the last time, never saw you so in awe and peace
